Wrecking Ball
by PSiwrotethis
Summary: Like wrecking balls, each hit hard at love when it came to the other. Each had wanted to break down the walls that had been built up and armed with secrets, syringes, knives, and guns. But in the end they only broke themselves and each other.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**** Had this idea to write a fic without using any dialogue. I've seen it done and have always wanted to try it, mainly to see if I could do it. It's interesting to write a fic with no dialogue for a character whose dialogue is so rich and colorful. I also tried to use no names, but hopefully you know who is who. **

**This is just chapter one. Please review! **

He sat cradling the crying girl in his arms, rocking her back and forth; back and forth. The casket was only now being carried out, but the room had emptied an hour ago; the mourners already headed toward the cemetery. Staring down at the now still and quiet form that had only seconds earlier been restless, he couldn't help but wonder why this all had to happen the way it did. It was only when he heard the funeral director excuse himself to inform the "gentlemen" in the room that they would be closing, that he realized he was not alone. Standing abruptly, he turned and found himself looking into the eyes of the only other man he was certain both loved and was loved by the recently departed. Moving ever so slowly so as not to disturb the child (who, in his opinion, was wearing her first black dress much too early in life), he picked up his belongings and made his way down the aisle. The only time he looked up was when he walked past the still seated mourner, whose voice cracked as he commented on how she looked like her; had her eyes and smile.

As he gently placed her in the car seat, double-checking to make sure the belt was securely fastened, he couldn't help but think about the man who was probably still sitting, immobilized by grief and anger, and how deep down, he must know, or at the very least must suspect the truth. He shook this thought off, as the memory of the last time he saw her began to flood his mind. In the last moments she spent with him, she made him promise to love her. She didn't need to add "as his own," as he once had requested of her. She didn't need to. They both knew that. She softly kissed his cheek as she took her last breath, and with that, she was gone.

Driving to the cemetery, he found himself talking to her. Low, so he wouldn't wake the little girl in the back seat, whose hazel eyes matched not only hers, but his as well, were being hidden from the world as she slept. Over and over he repeated how he wished he could have changed everything; how he wished he could have taken it all back. He pulled off the road and into an abandoned lot, parking the car before slamming his fists on the dashboard. Expletives escaped his mouth and as his hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel, tears began to fall freely. Of all the horrific things that she had endured in her life, many of which were in some way either directly or indirectly related to him, it was the post-partum depression that ended up being her rock bottom. Days before her suicide, she watched as he swaddled her in his arms, calming her tears almost instantaneously. She had thrown a bottle against the wall and fell to the floor on her knees, crying so violently, she began to shake. In between sobs, she cursed karma for being a bitch; asked if the reason her daughter was perpetually inconsolable and completely uninterested in breast-feeding, was some sort of penance – not just for the horrible things she had done, but for the awful things she had thought when she learned she was pregnant; for wanting an abortion but changing her mind at the last minute realizing she didn't want to be responsible for taking another life.

As they sat on the couch the night before she killed herself, she confided in him that she was scared shitless of being a mother; asked if babies could smell fear like sharks could. They talked for hours that night, and only in retrospect would he realize that she was self-medicating and probably had been all along. Before heading to her bedroom, she asked if he wouldn't mind putting her down to sleep; made a comment about how she felt fucking useless. Years ago, in a hotel parking lot, he held her tight, pressing her body close to his as she bawled and exclaimed how she felt broken. Now when he made an attempt to envelope her in his arms and tell her that she was far from broken, she shuddered at his touch.

It was the sound of glass breaking that jolted him awake. His son was being taken care of by the nanny for the night – a common occurrence as of late, and he was staying at her beach house with her, helping her take care of the baby. He had joined her in bed shortly after she had gone to sleep, placed a kiss on her forehead and watched as she stirred briefly before settling again.

When she didn't answer when he called out for her, he panicked and made his way to the bathroom. The sight in front of him brought him to his knees. A half empty bottle of tequila was on the tile floor, shards of broken glass strewn about next to it; and next to both of those, was her, slumped against the bathtub, blood pouring out of her forearms and wrists. He wanted to scream but neither his lungs nor his vocal cords would allow it. She slowly opened her eyes when she heard him chanting her name, begging her to hang on, telling her he would get help and that she would be okay. She weakly shook her head and told him it was too late; that she had done what she had to do. He kissed her lips, pulling her frail body up to rest on his own, and it surprised him how light she was. He told her he told her; and she, him. Like wrecking balls, each hit hard at love when it came to the other. Each had wanted to break down the walls that had been built up and armed with secrets, syringes, knives, and guns. But in the end they only broke themselves and each other.


	2. Chapter 2

_one year earlier_

She left the doctor's office with a dazed look in her eyes and a thirst that could and would only be quenched by about a dozen beers and a shot or four of tequila. The receptionist had actually asked if she wanted a cab called to take her home because she looked pale and in shock from the news she had been given. She shook her head no, and exited the building. After walking right past her car and down a few streets, staring blankly ahead of her, she found herself standing in front of the Miami Metro Police Headquarters, not entirely sure what she would say…or do, when she saw him.

Re-joining the force came shortly after the poisonous blonde made an attempt to kill her former lover. She didn't think twice about tipping off the cops that she was at the local market, disguised in a red wig; even if she did call them anonymously. Her houseguest had been none the wiser and neither of them suspected that she was the one who gave her in; after all, if she did, she would have to know that it would only bring her down too. With her gone, the dynamic of their relationship had changed drastically; whether it was for better or worse, time would only tell.

Given her recent past history with post-traumatic stress disorder coupled with depression, anxiety, and a slew of maladaptive methods of relieving stress and pain, she was told by her ever-loving boss to take two days off when she requested one to go to the doctor. Insisting she was fine at first, she now thought she may need longer than two days to recover from the blow she had just received. She knew he had to have seen her because the blinds shifted slightly. Her assumption was confirmed when she saw him open the door and begin walking towards her. They exchanged a brief greeting and she asked him to join her, and he did. Just as he always said he would.

When they were far enough away from the building, she stopped dead in her tracks. The words tumbled over her quivering lips and out of her mouth. And though the tinted glass shielded her eyes from the burning rays of the mid-afternoon sun, they did little to prevent him from seeing her hazel eyes start to tear. A guttural scream just barely escaped her, but her hands barricaded it inside. Her body slumped forward as her knees and legs betrayed her. He caught her in his arms just as gravity began to rage war on her. Pulling her tightly against him, he placed one hand around her waist and one on the back of her head, maneuvering it so her face was pressed against his neck. After a while, her breathing evened out and her arms found themselves around his waist, the fabric of his shirt clenched tightly in her hands.

He walked her all the way back to her car, making a call on the way to inform them he would be taking the rest of the afternoon off. Told them she had fell ill shortly after they left the station and that he was bringing her home. She stared out the passenger window as he drove them back to her bungalow. His fingers interlaced with hers and their hands rested slightly atop thigh. Rather than enter her house, she took a seat on the couch on her deck. He joined her, sitting flush up against her slouched frame. Minutes turned into hours without so much as a single curse uttered from either of them.

She fell asleep with her head on his shoulder, her arm splayed across his torso. He watched as her chest moved up and down; up and down. Carefully, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, as he tilted his own head back to rest not so comfortably on the cushion behind him. A sense of déjà vu swept over him, and he thought back to the first time they had been together. Neither had planned for what happened to happen, but it did, and it kept on happening. After they had made love the first time, he held her as they lay in his bed, just as he was doing now, and they talked about how as insane as it might seem, this was the only thing that either of them were sure felt right about their relationship. He closed his eyes as memories of that first night continued to wash over him; how she smelled, how she tasted like tequila and burritos, how she moaned his name in between curses and other sounds he hadn't ever heard before…quietly at first and then louder as she reached her peak. He had been surprised not only at how rough she liked it and how much she liked being dominated, but also at how eager she was to please him.

A smile formed on her face as she awoke in his embrace the next morning, however it was replaced with an almost immediate frown as she remembered why she had been so upset the night before; so scared. She closed her eyes in an attempt to will herself back to sleep, so to put off the memories of the events of the past few months, which were starting to come back to her in full force. She was pregnant, this much she could not question. Who the father was, was a different story.


	3. Chapter 3

She had only officially been back at the station for two hours before he asked if she wanted to get together that night. She smiled and nodded, knowing that her other nightly plans were cancelled for that evening so he could vet his next victim. She had just started to entertain the idea of entering back into a relationship with the man whose heart she broke when she left him standing alone with his heart shaped candles and a ring box, which he never did end up returning; and when all was said and done, she missed him. And she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he missed her. He had never really gotten over her, and despite what she said or did; she never really got over him either. Even when she was with other men, she wondered what her life would be like had she said 'yes' a few years ago; and now, given her current conflicts with love, she was more torn than ever.

They sat on his couch and talked over drinks, and he admitted what she always had suspected; that he had been attracted to her since his very first day in homicide. She laughed the laugh he adored and he tapped his foot nervously – a trait she always made fun of him for, but secretly adored. Hours later, she stood up and began walking toward the front door, but stumbled a bit; not realizing how much she had drank. He caught her as she fell, but his feet were just as unsteady as hers, and they tumbled onto the floor. They giggled like school children and as she moved to get up, he playfully yanked her back down and kissed her lightly on the lips. Caught off guard, she broke it off as quickly as it happened, bringing her head back to look him in the eye. Twice she attempted to speak, but her efforts were fruitless, so she surrendered; reaching up to cup his face, devouring his lips as she lay back down, pulling him on top of her.

Their kisses were fierce and full of emotion, and even though they had been together for quite some time in the past, their coupling on this night was something new entirely. Pausing as he lowered himself on top of her, he took a moment to look at her; take her all in. He had dreamed about the day when he would be back with her like this, and for a split second he worried if it was a dream. With his index finger, he traced the outline of her face, starting at her cheekbone, then down past her chin and eventually down the right side of her body. She licked her lips as she watched him examine her – his touch as intoxicating as ever – and her desire for him to be inside her grew stronger by the second. He could tell she was getting anxious, so he turned his attention back to her mouth, kissing her as he grabbed at the hem of her shirt, tugging it up and away from her body. Moments later they were both undressed and just as he was about to enter her, he made a face and asked if he should get something, motioning to his bedroom. Not wanting to lose contact with him, she shook her head and reached down, wrapping her hand around his length and guiding him to where they both wanted and needed him to be. She whispered something but he couldn't make out what – his comprehension skills had escaped him entirely.

The past few months had been especially difficult for her, and her body had paid the price. She had lost a considerable amount of weight from her already small frame – a fact that did not go unnoticed – especially by the men that loved her. They had even spoken about it with one another when they allied themselves to help save her from the hell she had been living. Knowing this wasn't the time and place to bring it up, he promised himself that he would talk to her about it later; promised himself that he would protect her. Though he didn't say it aloud, he feared he was being too forceful; too rough. She was keeping up with his intensity, but the bones protruding from her ribcage, which he had always been able to outline with his finger – something that would drive her absolutely wild – were far too prominent for his liking; her hip bones jutting out much more than they used to. Not wanting to bruise her, he loosened his grip on her waist, and instead locked one of his hands with hers, interlacing his fat little sausage fingers in between her long and delicate ones. It was as he thrust into her, bringing her arms up and over her head, that he first noticed the unmistakable lines of self-inflicted wounds across her wrists and forearms. Many were in the later stages of healing, but some looked fresh. Too fresh. He had to look away. It was too much for him to think of her harming herself physically in that way.

Her eyes flickered open, and urged him on, pleading for him to go faster and deeper and harder and when she caught her breath, she flipped them over. He bucked up to meet her each time she came down on him, and it was only when she placed her hands on top of his, as she was wildly moving on top of him, that he tightening his grip on her waist again. Without notice she paused her motions, and lowered herself so she hovered over him, the left side of her face brushing up against his. She whispered in his ear, and as the words escaped her mouth, he couldn't help but groan loudly and tilt his head back. She responded with a smirk and a slight giggle before capturing his earlobe with her teeth, licking the back of it and sucking on it gently, causing him to lose all the control he had been trying to hold on to. Apparently she had remembered what he loved as much as he did, and being with him, like this, made her think for a minute that she could possibly be happy. Normal. Free.

Much to her surprise, he grabbed hold of her and lifted her off him. In one swift move, he was standing and pulling her up to stand, but only for a second before he lifted her off the floor. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he walked them back toward the wall, pressing her firmly against it. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, and bit down on his shoulder, riding out her climax before shouting out his name as she came. Several more times, he thrust into her before he cried out her name and told her he was ready. He was about to pull out when she demanded that he not; told him it was okay; that they were good. When he asked if she was sure, she kissed him full on the lips.

The next morning they agreed that while they had not intended to have things go as far as they did, they clearly were good together; clearly missed one another; clearly remembered a lot about the other. Her mind wandered as he started talking about what their future might look like, and though her thoughts were elsewhere, she was able to make out various words he used like, 'us' and 'we' and 'together.' She weakly attempted to keep her focus on the present, however she couldn't help but think about the man she had been with just days earlier, and how much like last night, she had not meant to sleep with him, but she did and it changed everything.

He kissed her cheek before she left his apartment, and she allowed a faint smile to appear on her face. As she got into her car, she took out her phone and began to review the messages she had neglected for the past several hours: one voicemail and three texts all from him – each a few hours apart from the last. The final one, she estimated, must have come in only moments ago while they were talking right before she left. As she read the words on her screen, tears began to stream down her cheeks and she bit down on her bottom lip. Taking a deep breath in and out, she leaned back against headrest and uttered a single profanity, before putting her car into gear and heading to meet him. The entire drive there, she questioned the choices she had made over the past few years; questioned whether going to see him was the best decision. Her answers may not have been answered when he opened the door and saw him standing in front of her, but she was damn sure she didn't want to spend any time talking about any of it.


	4. Chapter 4

Most of her days were spent eating, throwing up, crying, cursing, sleeping and begging for beer. And tequila. She thanked the Lord she wasn't even sure she believed in that she could at least have a Xanax – which he controlled of course. He was fearful if he didn't, she would take one too many. When it was the three of them relaxing on the beach at her place, or watching bad movies and eating burritos on his couch, she couldn't help but feel as though she could get used to this life – and wondered what it would be like with the addition of another little one. Though she wouldn't admit it just yet, she liked to imagine the little blonde boy – aged a few years, of course – sitting with a protective arm over her. And yes, she had decided the baby was a girl almost immediately after learning she was pregnant.

But then she would go to his apartment and he would massage her swollen legs and feet as they reviewed cases, and she felt as though that would work too. Initially, telling him had caused her a great deal of distress and she chickened out of doing so three times. When she finally did muster up the courage to tell him, his response to the news was quite different than the other man she told, and at the time, she wasn't sure if it was better, worse, or somewhere in between. She told him that this had changed things, and that she wanted to take things slowly. She could tell it hurt him, but he told her he understood and he agreed. That being said, it didn't change the fact that he took advantage of every opportunity he had to touch her when she allowed it. Just not her growing belly. He was never to touch her belly. That was her condition.

Though the majority of her extreme hormonally charged outbursts were seen by the same person who had also endured so many obstacles right alongside her as they were growing up; there were several times in which she would break down in front of the street savvy man whose desk was adjacent to hers. And when she did, he did his best to comfort and reassure her – secretly enjoying these opportunities to dote on and compliment her, as in the past, she would have told him right where to shove those words. Now, however, it was as if she needed them. It wasn't like that with the other though. He was allowed to say whatever he wanted, and very often he did. Maybe it was because she knew he meant it. Maybe it was because it was the first time she had ever seen him emote anything at all. The little boy was her kryptonite though. He would snuggle up next to her, expressing his love and gratitude for being there for him…for them. Several times she found herself staring at him as he played or colored or read or watched television. On one occasion, tears rolled down her face, and though he didn't see that she was watching him; she had been seen by him…and so he came up to stand behind her, a gentle hand on her shoulder. With a deep breath in and an even louder exhale, she placed a hand over his, and looked up at him with her glossy hazel eyes. The two nodded in their silent agreement and she felt a sense of peace.

It was only when she was alone and in the privacy of her own home; that she truly unraveled. She felt overwhelmed by the physical changes that were taking place in her body, and she knew that all of her typical coping mechanisms for stress or pain would only bring harm to herself and the growing child inside of her. Nowadays, she would take long baths or sit on her porch staring at the waves crashing against the sand. She had once poked fun at a certain federal agent who enjoyed doing such zen-like things, but given her current situation, she had to admit that these things were, in fact, relaxing. She even whispered an apology to the heavens one cool evening – her smile quickly receding when she thought about what he might say about her predicament.

On one particular evening, she took a box of old photographs from a high shelf in her closet and dumped its contents on the bed in front of her. She didn't even realize she had begun to cry until she noticed that the picture in her slightly shaky hand had become wet with her tears. She stared into the faces of the people in the photo – a snapshot from his sixteenth birthday – the last one when it was all four of them. She remembered that day as if it were yesterday. Using her thumb she wiped the tears from her eyes and began to flip through the rest of the pictures from that party. As she did so, she started to notice something very interesting – something she had never noticed before – even though she had seen these pictures over and over. In every one, whether she was next to, or away from him, his eyes were fixated on her – even if she wasn't looking at him. She brought the pictures closer to her face so she could examine them a bit more closely and what she saw made her tears re-appear. In his eyes – she saw concern; worry; love.

Despite whatever feelings she had for the other, and despite the fact that she was uncertain which man's baby she was carrying – she knew, in that moment, that they were irrevocably connected. Her sobs had just started to quiet when she heard the unmistakable sound of the lock on her front door being opened. She knew that sound all too well by know. She even knew how many seconds it took him to get from her door to her bedroom. Knew how many steps it took him. She closed her eyes and silently counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Her eyes flickered open as he walked through the threshold of her bedroom. Two more steps and he was sitting next to her, wrapping his arms around her and running his fingers through her hair – stopping at the nape of her neck to give a quick tickle and rub. When he saw what she had been doing – what she had been looking at, he gave her a knowing smile, and brought her head to rest on his chest. Carefully, he leaned back into the pillows propped against her headboard, gently tugging on her to bring her with him. Her hand came to rest on his chest, and she curled her body towards him – filling the space that had been between them. The two didn't talk much that night before she drifted off to sleep. They didn't really need to. They both knew what the other was thinking. Like the last two puzzle pieces, they fit perfectly together. It was what they were going to do about this – that they did need to talk about.


	5. Chapter 5

She was about six months along, when, in a moment of anger and frustration he asked how she could be so sure that he was the father, being sure to bring up how he knew he was not the only one she had been with around the time she conceived – a fact that only the two of them were privy to. A fact that he knew would upset her when he brought it up. It was a simple argument that had escalated quickly, and as soon as he said the words he regretted them. Even she could tell that. She had been the root cause of him actually feeling things like pain and regret and sometimes, even sympathy – and because of that, she could read each of those feelings on his face, for she knew every facial expression he could possibly offer; just as he knew every one of hers. And the one he saw on her face after he had insinuated that baby might be the detective's rather than his, spoke volumes even though she remained silent. He knew as well as she did that while the child very well not be his…but that she had thrown every penny she owned into the fountain wishing that it was. What she didn't know, was that he had thrown his in too – wishing for the same.

He expected a torrent of cursing to be hurled his way, but instead, her arms came up and her hands covered her face – the tears and gut-wrenching sobs following quickly after. She sank down against the wall of her bedroom; her knees brought up as close to her chest as she could get them. In that moment, even though her stomach was expanding and she weighed more than she ever had in her entire life, she felt so small. As her body began to rock back and forth, she kept her eyes closed tight, her head facing down. He crouched in front of her, his apologies being muddled by the sound of her crying. When he reached out to put his hands gently on her arms, he half expected her to swing her still slender limbs and hit him, but she didn't even flinch. He took her lack of a response as an allowance for this physical interaction, and pulled her in close – massaging her back as he hugged her.

They had talked about their whole situation. A lot actually. She had told him that she truly was hoping that she – yes she still referred to the little one as a girl – was his – but that she feared she would have to say otherwise, simply because. He understood. He hated it. But he understood. Truth be told, she hated it too. At night she dreamed that they lived somewhere else – a place where no one knew them and where they could start their lives over. A place where they shared a last name for an entirely different reason. Waking up from those dreams were the worst. Especially when she woke up to a message from her overbearing, but well-meaning partner. He had agreed to her conditions and was willing to take a step back…several, actually…but he couldn't help himself sometimes. He wanted to know how she was doing. Needed to know.

The two men had actually spoken a great deal about her pregnancy with one another; unbeknownst to her, of course. When she went off the rails after their former boss' untimely death, they had conspired with one another on multiple occasions, in order to protect and defend her and her honor. The smooth talking cop had even punched a rookie in a bar when he overheard him cracking jokes at her expense. Had it been the other man in the bar, the young uni might have gotten more than a busted up lip and a black eye. In any case – they spoke about how she was doing; her mood swings and bizarre cravings; and her stubborn refusal to lighten her workload – insisting that she was not overdoing it. She had been at the food truck one afternoon, indulging in her most recent food obsession – nachos and relish – when she heard them talking about her and the baby. She was surprised at how honest each of them were…especially with one another. After listening for a few moments, she slowly turned and walked back into the building. As she rode the elevator up to her floor in silence and solitude, she sighed heavily…releasing the breath she had not realized she had been trapping inside, and leaned her head against the wall behind her; for it was on that day, and in that moment that she knew without a shadow of a doubt who the father was.


End file.
